Rebel
by TheMarauderBandit
Summary: Amanda Todd's parents are dead. And now their murderers are after her. And who finds her alone on the street other than one Sherlock Holmes? Rated T for mild language.
1. Chapter I: Words and Games

_Hello, hello! This is my newest fanfiction: Rebel :) I've been working on this since the summer (when I first watched Sherlock Holmes). The reason it's taken so long for the first chappie to get up is because Amanda is probably the hardest character I've ever worked with... ever. And thus it's been hard. Not to mention, the chappie is insanely long. Also, Sherlock Holmes hasn't been able to capture as well. But give me some rope. Some chapters he may be based off the movie version, and others he'll be like the Holmes in the books. This particular chappie he's a mix of both. As you can tell, it has some references to the first movie, and the release of the second one has sparked my interest in the story once again. So, expect some references from that in the next few chapters, but I most likely won't give away anything. Alright, enough of my rambling, enjoy my story ;) Buon divertimento!_

_Disclaimer: I don't own anything you recognize, although I wish I did... I'd love to meet Sherlock Holmes_

_Characters are barely AU_

_~Bandit (I will most likely change this to Detective Bandit, or Inspector Bandit, but considering this is the first of this subject, I'll just keep it at plain ol' Bandit). :D_

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><p>Rebel<p>

Chapter I: Words and Games

"You're saying you don't want to help me? You know what? Don't answer that. I don't trust your answer. You will somehow take some line of words I said and turn it against me. You and your logic. I should have never come to you. I should have listened to Watson. He warned me about you. You know what? I didn't even come to you! You had to find me on the street and suddenly turn all compassionate! Why are you so compassionate? I will never know. Because I'm leaving. Why do you even care about my parents? They died in a house fire. End of story. You had to see me shivering in the bloody rain, and you had to care, and you had to bring me to your bloody house, and you had to get me to talk. What's it to you if someone had murdered my parents? I don't care. And I certainly don't care if they come after me. Only you seem to care."

One known as Sherlock Holmes stared calmly into the girl's face, having no intention of speaking. She intrigued him. She was an interesting person. She seemed to like to refuse help. He watched her with deep interest as she closed her eyes in frustration, brushed a strand of hair out of her face, and snorted. "Why won't you talk? Say something!"

Her eyebrows furrowed as she sat forward in the study chair Holmes had made her sit in. And now she was handcuffed to it. "What is wrong with you?" she muttered, shaking her head and leaning back, "Are you going to let me go anytime soon? Or would you rather I just sneeze all over you?"

She glanced around the room once again, slightly admiring the way it was set. Well actually, you couldn't see the way it was set. Mostly because random objects were strewn across the room. She scoffed, noticing a violin. She played the violin. She used the play the violin, until it became too boring, and she decided she had to stop. She noticed his eyes following her gaze, and a slight smirk slid across his face, "What have you done to your dog?" she gestured at the poor bulldog, without even looking at it. Holmes gave a slight chuckle.

"It's like I'm talking to myself," she muttered, before cursing silently under her breath. She watched intently as Holmes stood suddenly, met her eyes for a second, before leaving the room rather hurriedly. She growled in frustration, yanked at the handcuffs once more, and did what any trapped thirteen year old would have done. She screamed.

It was a loud scream. She could hear it echo through the house. She smiled, pleased. _That_ would have annoyed someone. She bit her lip, and cocked her head, listening carefully for something. Yes, in the next room, she could people talking. Arguing. Two people arguing. She could only guess it was Holmes and Watson. Their voices were starting to rise slightly. They were angry at someone. She could hear little bits of words, mostly "Amanda". She scowled. Neither of them had the right to call her Amanda. They should call her Miss if anything at all. It

wasn't like she was staying. Though, it did comfort her a little that she was the cause of all this. A smile slid across her face for only a second, before realizing the state she was in.

She really didn't hate Holmes. It was just that her parents had just been killed. Though that didn't give her the right. He wasn't that bad of a person. When she was younger, he had been her role model. Sherlock Holmes. Her parents would always read about him, and occasionally, read about him out loud to her. She thought he was a genius. She used to try to solve cases. Small ones, like where her mom's necklace had gone. Or her dad's chicken. She mostly solved them. With a little help from her brother. But, it had faded. She still read the papers, though, hoping for some kind of article about him. She always figured him of a sort of attention-seeker. But mostly the cases he solved on a regular basis didn't make the papers.

From past articles, she'd noticed something. He had something for children. He disguised it as the same hunger and determination as adult cases, but she saw through the act. A couple of months ago, she read something about a missing eight-year-old, named Sophia. Holmes had solved the case in two days. This was incredible. On usual missing adult cases, which he got most often, it took him from three to seven days to solve it. The man was a genius, none-the-less. But he certainly cared for children more than anything else. Most people would find this surprising, considering most people consider him a heartless wretch. She had other opinions. He was careless, arrogant, rude, but most certainly not heartless. She was observant, she saw. In the few seconds when she'd first met him, when he found her alone, drenched, cowering in an alleyway in the pouring rain, she'd noticed things others wouldn't. However her investigating skills came near to nothing compared to Holmes's.

He'd been boxing, judging by the slightly faded red mark on his left cheek, and the way he walked, with a slight swagger, suggested he was drunk. But not enough to trip and stumble. He'd won, she could tell, or else he'd have more injuries, but he wasn't celebrating like a victor usually would. Something had been on his mind. His eyes flashed as he walked by, and heard her coughs, he'd turned, favoring his left leg as he pivoted, meaning he'd injured it from the fight, it seemed too tender to be from something older, and instantly frowned as he saw her. His frown had quickly faded, he _wasn__'__t_ heartless, and it was replaced with a stoic expression, she figured it was because he didn't want anyone to know he actually cared about people. He'd then stepped towards her, quite calmly, and knelt by her. She knew it was uncharacteristic of him to be so gentle. He was usually blunt. He'd asked her something, she could smell the whiskey on his breath, confirming her suspicions. She'd answered, but didn't accept his offer to help her up, and instead used the wall for support. She'd eyed him warily. This was not how she expected to be meeting him. She then refused his offer for her to come with him, and then he grabbed her wrist, being careful not to hurt her, and led her across the streets to his house, meaning he was stubborn, something that wasn't new to her, she'd learned that much from the articles on him.

She protested the whole way, but he was stronger than her, not surprising at all. He did box often. The first thing he did once he'd arrived in the house, was take her to be checked by Watson, something she'd found quite surprising. The doctor said she just had a slight cold, nothing to be surprised by, and said she was fine. And then Holmes had led her to the room she sat handcuffed in now. He'd offered her tea, which she had none-too-politely refused and had gotten her to talk. She didn't know how. He was just cunning; he'd simply said a couple of things to her. Polite, civilized things, and then she'd just blabbed. She loved to talk, and she guessed he'd used that against her in this case. And then she'd told him about the person that had tried to kill her parents before, and asked for his help. But she couldn't make up her mind. She didn't want him to help her. And then she did. And then she didn't. And right now, she really hated his guts.

Before she knew it, she was staring at the door, waiting for Holmes to come and get her. She'd survived a whole week before he'd found her. A whole week. She didn't need their help. Or at least, she didn't _think_ she needed their help. Watson was a doctor. He'd checked her to see if she was okay. He'd played his part. Holmes was a detective. She'd asked him for help. He'd refused. Well, he hadn't actually refused, he hadn't said anything, so she took that as a no. He'd played his part. They were done. She just wanted to get out of the handcuffs keeping her from running from the house and back into the pouring rain, and into the tiny, grubby, most certainly _not_ sanitary alleyway, which was the only place she trusted sleeping at this point.

She looked around the room with another sigh, which resulted in a feeble sneeze, before closing her eyes to try to calm the spiking headache. Maybe Watson said she was fine, but her body most certainly said she was not.

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><p>"Amanda!"<p>

She woke with a start at the sound of her name, which unfortunately caused her head to start to pound again, and a small yelp. She leaned back in her chair, before looking in front of her, "Oh God, Watson."

"Sorry," she shot a nasty look at Holmes, who was snickering like a child in the background.

"Its okay doctor, just not exactly what I needed," she held her painful head, as if this was going to sooth the pounding. She sat forward and rubbed her temples, "What did you want?" How had she fallen asleep in the chair? She barely trusted the two.

She started again, noticing that a jacket was placed on her shoulder. It was the same one that Holmes had worn when he found her in the rain, and it smelled like whiskey and some odd, foreign spice. She scrunched up her nose, and threw it off her, looking intently at Holmes.

He shrugged and avoided her eyes, turning his head towards Watson, before shooting a fleeting glance, "Alright, I'll take your case."

Amanda grinned smugly at Holmes, "Ah, so the detective speaks."

"I can talk," Holmes pulled out his pipe, Amanda resisted the urge to squeal in delight, and turned towards her.

"So," she placed a hand under her chin, "Can you unlock me so I can go sleep in my cardboard box? I'm surprised to find actually quite miss it, and I'd like to return, thank you very much."

"You're staying here," Holmes replied tartly. On second glance, Holmes had a rather childish air about him, and he gave a one sided grin with giddiness. She couldn't help but smile along.

Amanda cocked an eyebrow at the duo, "Hmm? Since when has this arrangement been made?"

"It's still raining outside, it's only for your health," Watson explained gently.

She groaned in protest, and raised one pale hand, the one that wasn't locked to the arm of the chair, incredously and shot them both deathly glares. Holmes backed off, waving a hand at Watson as he puffed a ring of smoke from the pipe.

"I'm afraid your cold will turn into pneumonia if you stay in the rain any longer," Watson sighed.

Amanda glowered in disbelief, "But why at your house? It's not even an official case!"

"Why do you always whine?" Holmes muttered under his breath from the shadowy corner.

"Because I'm a thirteen-year-old, and I'm way too stressed out," she snapped at him.

"Stop it, then."

"You're not my mother, so stop acting like her," Amanda huffed, crossing her arms, and snarled at the detective.

"Alright!" Watson sighed, "Both of you, stop bickering like siblings!"

Amanda glowered, but shut her mouth none-the-less; Holmes sneered at her in a mocking way, but he shut up too.

"Did you just compare us to siblings, Watson?" Holmes turned towards his friend.

"Yes, Holmes, I did," he snapped.

"I am so sick and tired of you two!" Amanda glowered at them both, "Can I get some peace and quiet for once? I have a horrible headache, and I've been handcuffed to a chair all night, while your idiotic dog has been farting the whole time!"

The two exchanged looks as the young girl fumed. She poked her bottom lip out in a pout, her green eyes flashing with anger, before she snorted, and adverted her gaze, glancing shiftily around the disorganized room. Holmes shifted uncomfortably, lighting his pipe and training his eyes on the girl.

"Do you always keep your room so disgusting?" she picked up a book, and saw Holmes flinch.

"It is not disgusting—I'd rather you not touch that. Everything is in it's place," he replied through grated teeth, taking the pipe from his mouth.

Amanda reluctantly set the cracked volume back on the worn table next to her, making sure it was in the same position it was before she'd taken an interest in it. Biting her bottom lip, and peering up at Holmes to make sure he wasn't looking anymore, she slipped a folded, water stained piece of parchment into her pocket, and looked up innocently at Holmes. Perhaps she'd sneak away in the dead of night, back to her box, and no one would know until the morning, when she'd be long gone. The problem was Gladstone, who'd taken a liking to her. She'd never personally had a dog before, but she'd heard they always barked at their owners, or people trying to break in. Perhaps he'd howl when she tried to make a run for it. She'd take care of him when she got there. And then there was the very big possibility he might handcuff her. Well she'd plead. Yes, it would all work out so very well.

It wasn't until Watson cleared his throat that Amanda realized there were things happening in the real world. They both looked at her expectantly. "I'm sorry, but did you ask me something?"

She thought she saw Holmes scoff from the corner of her eye, but she was sure he was too mature to do such a thing. "Yes, I was wondering if you were tired," Watson explained patiently.

"No, why?" she was sure the doctor wasn't usually as composed as he was now. She was a child, and a stubborn one at that. They thought by being agreeable, they'd win her over. Amanda almost smiled at the prospect of their beliefs. There was near no way they'd ever gain her trust. Unless they were to do something heroic. And now way they would do something heroic. Of course her definition of heroic was different than others.

"You keep gazing off into the distance," he replied with a meaningful look.

Well that's because I can't help but let my mind wander, she thought, a sneer playing on her lips. Ah, there she was doing it again. Perhaps she'd read too much about Holmes. She almost grinned at the prospect of being nearly as genius as Holmes. Compared to his brilliance, even she had to admit, she was an imbecile. However, she was very good at finding clues. Perhaps once this whole ordeal was over, she'd work harder on the inspecting skill. She'd saved the day more than once in her household. That didn't make her family like her any better. She gave a soft, lilting sigh, and glanced up at the two.

"I'm just thinking."

"About what?" Holmes stepped forward, abruptly fascinated in the conversation.

"Everything," she retorted harshly, "What's it matter to you?"

"You're my client," he wasn't fooled by her fabrication, "What are you really thinking about?"

"My parents, that's all," she grimaced, "I suppose you're going to eventually solve this case?"

"You're always think about your former life," he breathed.

"I'm an angsty girl, what of it?" he sat down, and Amanda noticed his eyes were twinkling with a childlike recklessness. She couldn't help but smile.

"It's not good for your health, you need to get over things," he propped an arm on his need, and rested his chin in it.

"It's not easy. I'm out of practice of whisking my life away," she responded lightly.

"I never dwell on things," he met her gaze confidently, "Not even for a second."

"No one is that inhuman, Detective Holmes," she leaned back in the chair, taking some pity on the man.

He nodded his head slightly, as if in silent agreement. He looked away, scrutinizing the wall across the room, before glancing back at Watson, who was watching heedfully from the corner. Amanda ran a hand through her disheveled dark hair, and gazed heatedly up at the two. She finally gave in, slumped down in her chair and let her mask fade away. She closed her eyes, and felt them water up. Oh what a mess she was in. And how she missed her parents.

She sensed Holmes shift as her nose began to run, probably to look back at Watson once again. She felt her lips tremble, before she snapped her eyes open, glaring at Holmes. "Are you alright, my dear?" His voice was delicate, and actually tinged with genuine concern.

She stared up at the detective in disbelief. Had he just called her _dear?_ "Yes, I'm quite fine, thank you. It's just all this," she waved a frantic hand around the room, "suddenly hit."

"And it hadn't the week before?" Holmes raised an eyebrow, still being cautious with her.

"What makes you say—," Amanda cut herself off, squinting skeptically, before realizing that Mr. Holmes was a famous detective, and had every right to be so, "No, it _hadn__'__t_ hit the week before. I was kind of too busy trying to survive among the packs of vermin people call beggars."

"And yet you don't want to accept our help," an amused, lopsided smirk slid onto his weathered face.

They were playing games at this point.

"The thing is, I don't exactly trust you, no matter how much each of you have done. And this thing isn't helping," she tugged at the handcuff.

"Don't expect us to unlock you. I know you'll just run off as soon as you can," Holmes chuckled.

"You're going to have to unlock me sometime."

"I'm afraid, my dear, this key," he dangled it in front of her face, "won't be in any way necessary."

"What of Lestrade? He'll have to come by the house sometime. He'll see me locked up, and he'll think something of it," she tried desperately to get him to give her the key.

"Lestrade won't come within ten yards of my house if he can help it," Holmes countered, playing absentmindedly with the key

"Ah, but how do you know he won't come this time?" Amanda bit her lip, and tried not to complain as the detective continued to torture the girl.

"I'm not opening the case as public. There's no need for him to help," he jested as he grinned up at the girl.

Amanda cursed under her breath, she hadn't thought of that.

"What?" Holmes chimed innocently, "Something got you stumped?"

The girl hissed at him playfully, "More like I decided to stop carrying on with your ludicrous aberration."

"That's an awful lot for big words for such a little girl as you," he flashed her a cocky sneer.

"Arrogant bastard," she spat in return.

He raised an eyebrow at her, before he erupted in chuckles, making her sound as if she were ridiculous. He looked back at Watson, still laughing, and caused a smile to spread across the doctor's face as well. Amanda sat back, annoyed, and feeling terribly left out, as the two continued their raucous chortles. What was she missing? What did they know that she didn't? Perhaps they knew nothing about her. Perhaps they thought she knew nothing about _them_. But that would be near impossible. Holmes would've at _least_ deducted that she knew enough about crime to be playing pretend in their eyes. He _would_'ve figured that she was a big fan of his by the way she turned into giddy fangirl whenever he did something important. And he would've at _least_ reasoned that she really _did_ want to help them, but was a little too stubborn to _do_ anything about it. She snorted, and waited for the two dolts to gather their wits.

"Chuckleheads," she muttered nastily when they finally did look back at her, "What have you done, and why do I have the feeling that I should be regretting _your_ mistake?"

"Ah, nothing," Holmes said coolly, waving a nonchalant hand about as he placed his feet up on the coffee table separating the two chairs in which they sat. "I've just discovered a big breakthrough in our case."

"Have you now?" she said dryly, forcing herself to remain calm for the time being, "How exciting. Does it happen to involve me?"

"Dear, it's your case, the whole thing's going to involve you," he said this as if it were bluntly obvious, "If you haven't noticed."

Amanda twitched with frustration, "There's a reason you keep saying that. Do you expect me to notice everything?"

"It would be nice," Watson muttered under his breath from the corner. She shot him an exasperated look, before returning her attention to Holmes.

"The fact is, detective, I am not you. I cannot see everything, I cannot notice everything. But I do, in fact, notice the things you expect me to, and therefore I would highly appreciate if you stopped being so conceited when it comes to my knowledge," by the last sentence, the volume of her voice had raised considerably, so that she was almost shouting, and her eyes were flashing dangerously.

Holmes had nothing to say to this, and she sat quietly, studying her. Amanda shifted uncomfortably, and knew the silence wouldn't last long, so she took it in, happy for its peacefulness, "Hmm," his eyes wondered to her own.

She swallowed, and folded her hands in her lap, slightly to the right hand, for the chain of the handcuffs didn't go that long. Another few minutes passed, and then more and more, and Holmes seemed to be considering retorting, but he must've known that would result in another long argument, and he didn't seem in the mood.

"Well," he jumped up from his chair, "It's getting pretty late, it's best to go to bed."

Watson nodded his agreement, and collected the key from Holmes, before unlocking her from the chair, and taking her hand gently, keeping a cautious eye on her. As she shuffled along, she couldn't help but snicker as Watson's gaze intensified, "You can keep your gaze away, dear man, I'm not going to run away," More like I'm not going run away yet, "Go about your usual gait, it's not as if you can't trust. I'd rather die than slit your throats in the middle of the night."

Holmes turned around, and flashed the girl a smile at her comparison, before rotation back and continuing to lead the way. Amanda reluctantly followed him down the creaky, musty hallway towards what was likely to be her bedroom, Watson coming up behind her, making sure she didn't actually slash Holmes's gullet. She sneezed several times as the dust settled in her nose and throat. She couldn't help but smile sheepishly at the back of Holmes's head when she did.

"So, Holmes, where's your landlady… Mrs. Hudson, isn't it?" Amanda was swinging her arms carelessly about as she walked, attempting to stop her boredom from going too far.

Holmes turned slightly to meet her gaze, "Away. How'd you know about nanny?"

She snickered, raising her eyebrows at Holmes, "Nanny?" she broke out in laughter, doubling over, "Sorry, sorry. I came upon an article that mentioned her once when I was reading the paper."

The detective stopped, "You read the paper?"

Amanda pursed her lips, "Oh yeah, daily. Always intrigues me," At least the intriguing part was accurate. The truth was, she only read the papers when her brother told her there was an article on the detective. The lie tingled on her lips as she mouthed it, and she smiled at her quick wittedness.

Holmes considered her gently, before turning around, and opening the old door for her. He gestured her inside, and at once she studied the room. It wasn't all that special. There was a grime-covered bed, and a bookcase filled with books that looked incredibly boring. A lamp rested in the corner, and a dresser was wedged in the opposite crook. Everything was draped with spider webs, and the window that was on the wall was smeared with dirt and was opaque. All in all, it wasn't that different from the room she had at home. She folded her arms and looked back at the two, before holding her left wrist out for them. Watson stepped forward from a look from Holmes and clasped one of them on, before ushering her to the bed. She climbed in, and allowed them to lock the other onto the post of the bed, before Watson bode her goodnight. He put out the light, and she was engulfed in darkness.

As she lay alone, Amanda could feel herself being succumbed by sleep. Before she was carried away by slumber, she wondered what she was doing. She was trusted the detective and doctor enough to sleep in their house, after they practically kidnapped her and handcuffed her to everything in sight. And yet she didn't mind much. She'd read enough about Holmes for her to feel like she knew everything about him. Well, everything about his methods. She gave a small sigh, before rolling onto her side, gazing at the shadows, before allowing her hazel eyes to close slowly, the last thought in her head ringing. _She would escape._

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><p><strong>AN: Alright, what do you think? What are your thoughts on Amanda? Is she too much? Or maybe to annoying? Or perhaps you love her to death? Please share in a review! It'd make me so much more happier... and I'll probably start chapter 2 earlier than I usually would. Anyways, thanks! Love you all, and please review! :D**


	2. Chapter II: Part I: Rooftop Wars

_Hey! I know this is a short chapter, compared to my last one, but I wanted to get this published before Christmas end. So I cut it in two, and published early! Have fun! Buon divertimento1_

_Discalimer: I don't own anything you recognize_

_Characters are slightly AU_

_~Bandit_

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><p>Rebel<p>

Chapter II: Rooftop War

Part I

A beam of light shone through the window and onto one known as Amanda Todd as she tossed and turned in her bed. She smiled as the sun ray warmed her face, and she opened one eye, as if to look around the room. It was a while before she realized it was not all a dream. She really had met the wonderful, infamous detective, Sherlock Holmes. Her grin widened as she tugged on the handcuff as she'd done many times in the past few hours. She sat up, and ran a hand through her disheveled hair. A yawn escaped from her mouth, and she glanced around the room. It just smelled of Holmes. She drew her knees up to her chin, and wrapped her arms around her leg, the chained hand straining against the shackle. As she looked around the room, she began to panic. What if they forgot about her? What if they left her there, locked up forever, with nothing to eat? And they let her sit there and turn to bone, before she died? She opened her mouth, as if to scream, when she noticed the brass handle turning slowly around, and began to compose herself. They hadn't forgotten her. She couldn't help but beam at the thought. She sucked in her breath and collected her thoughts, before the old door creaked gradually open. She was met with Sherlock Holmes, who gave her a stern look, before stepping in and closing the door behind him.

He took a deep gulp of air before gazing at her steadily, "I don't appreciate what you did last night. It does not compel in my best interests to keep you here if you're going to pull such stunts as that."

Amanda couldn't help but burst out laughing at this statement, "That was great wasn't it?" It was all just a cover to mask her actual guilt. She stopped her smiling at the heated look he shot her, "Calm down, Holmes, it's not in my repertoire to do such a thing again."

Holmes gently took in her words, before simpering and gliding over to the wooden office chair and pulling it away from the damaged desk to sit on. His eyes filled with a juvenile gleam, and he smirked, "How _did_ you manage to get out?"

The girl giggled, "You didn't figure it out on your own?"

"No, I was too busy to estimate such an unimportant thing as that."

"Well," she sat forward in the bed, "Watson applied the handcuff quite loosely on my wrist, and I managed to slide it out of the cuff. I then snuck downstairs—was it your room next door? and was about to slip out the door, when, as you know, Gladstone started howling. Damn dog gave me away, didn't he? I was so close to freedom, I could taste it, Holmes," she squinted her eyes suspiciously at him, "If I didn't know better, I'd say you were purposely letting me attempt to escape when you put the manacle on so insecurely."

Holmes looked a little liable as he took a sudden interest in his feet, "Ah, but you know better, now don't you?"

"Unfortunately for you," she smacked her lips in a disdainful way, "I don't."

* * *

><p>"So," Amanda watched the duo dart around the room, "Where are you going?"<p>

"To investigate," Holmes replied quickly as he picked up his revolver, after showing it to Watson.

"Where?" Her curiosity got to the better of her as she shifted around in the chair she sat in.

"None of your concern," Holmes snapped as he exchanged looks with Watson.

Amanda was taken aback by his harsh words, and was stung by them, but for once let him slide, "I believe, as we discussed last night, anything pertaining to the case is my business, considering I am the case."

Holmes made a hissing noise as something dropped on his toe, and motioned for Watson to speak, "Your house."

"Interesting, considering it's burned down," she gave a loud sigh, and leaned back. She would have a forever long hate of handcuffs after this whole ordeal was over. She could understand why they didn't trust her. She had tried to escape just last night, but what she didn't get is their stubbornness. Well, more like _Holmes_'s stubbornness. She'd learned her lesson. She would stay at their house, like a good little girl, and wait for them to work their magic, and solve the case in the blink of an eye. She cracked up at the thoughts of being a _good_ little girl. As if. Honestly, though, she really just wanted to do her family justice. No matter how bitter, or disdainful they'd been, they were all she had. She needed to let them know she cared. She hoped Holmes killed the bastard who had slaughtered her parents, and was now trying to murder her.

She watched them leave with a vigilant eye, and waited a couple of seconds after their presence in all left the house. She heard the door slam, and held her breath for a few moments, before letting herself breath normally again. "Mrs. Hudson?" she called loudly. She'd heard the landlady arrive back at the residence just hours before. She could hear a couple of scuffling footsteps, and then some mild cursing, before she saw the face of the landlady in the doorway. She could help thinking, so this is Mrs. Hudson?

"Yes, dear?" she seemed oddly calm to see a complete stranger in her house. Either of the two must've told her.

"I was wondering if I could have anything to eat?" she tried in the sweetest, most innocent voice she could manage.

"Of course, miss," Mrs. Hudson seemed harassed, and Amanda wanted so bad to make fun of her, but she had to appear a darling. "Anything in particular?"

"Would you happen to have any biscuits and tea?" she folded her hands in her lap and smiled up at the woman.

"Of course, Miss Todd," the landlady smiled, before turning to exit the room.

"And don't forget the butter for the biscuits, Madam," Amanda couldn't help but smile at her own cunning ways. In a couple of minutes, she'd be home free. Escaped from the terrible place. She grinned and relaxed back in her chair, waiting for the woman to return with her "lunch".

Minutes passed, and Amanda soon grew restless, but she forced herself to be calm. She needed to unwind. She needed to make her cover realistic. Soon she heard the clanking of a metal tray, and the sound of footsteps on the squeaky stairs, and she grew giddy with excitement. When Mrs. Hudson arrived in the room with the food, the young girl wore a devious smirk. The landlady was suspicious, but handed her the tray anyways. "Thank you, Mrs. Hudson."

"Of course, my dear."

Amanda almost shouted out in joy as soon as she saw the small butter knife placed gingerly next to the delicious-looking, flaky biscuits. Her mouth water, and she tentatively picked one up, before stuffing it in her mouth. After she'd swallowed the mouthful, she took the knife in her hand and began to work at the lock in her handcuffs. It didn't take long before she heard the telltale click, and she slipped out of them. She carefully snuck out of her chair, and closed the office door, before shoving the chair across the floor, and against the entrance. She took the handcuff and clicked it to the leg of the table to the right of her, making it near impossible to enter the room. She smiled proudly at her handiwork, before turning towards the window, the dagger still in hand. By the look of it, the window was painted shut, but the girl thought nothing of it. She strode right up towards it, and pressed the knife into the paint, before sliding it around the perimeter of the glass. Soon, the coat was cracked, and she tugged at the window. It took the old thing a while to obey her pulling, but soon it rasped open. She quickly glanced around the room once more to make sure she was alone, before slipping through the opening, and onto the ledge.

As soon as the fresh fall air hit her face, Amanda doubled over in happiness. She took in a big whiff, thankful of the smell of salt, smoke, and tobacco. She quickly regained her thoughts, and jumped towards the nearest rooftop. She clambered onto the thing, her feet slipping on the frosty shingles. She didn't give up, however, and slid down the decline, until she was to the end of the covering. She swiftly recovered her balance, and jumped towards another rooftop, and then another. It wasn't until she was at the end of the line that she climbed back down towards the cobblestone street. She'd almost forgotten how much she loved the city.

She soon blended in with the crowds of people surrounding her, and she was sure anyone who had hopes of following her, had lost prospect of her. She sprinted along the lane, however, for good measure. She gone several blocks, before, out of breath, she slowed to a fast walk. She pulled the scarf she'd stolen from Holmes's room around her neck, and smiled at herself. She turned a corner into a labyrinth of alleyways. She, on the other hand, trekked them with no sign of difficulty. As she continued to walk, she felt her heart flutter. She was going back to her wooden box. Hopefully no pedestrian had stolen it. It was surprisingly hard to find wooden boxes in the poor city of London, and she really didn't take to fancy the idea of going through the process of finding another one. She walked around an extra curve, and suddenly bumped into the chest of two very large men.

She gave a shriek, and stumbled back several feet, before getting a good look at the two giants. She could feel her heart in her throat at the men. They were obviously there for her. Amanda flashed them a grin, before turning the other direction, only to smack into another set of men. She cursed under her breath, but didn't dare ask who they worked for. One of them reached his meaty, incredibly hairy arm for her, but she inched away, and looked for a way out. She spotted a handle attached to the building to the right of her. She darted forwards as all of them lumbered forward, and jumped to implausible height, stretching her arm out for the knob, and felt a wave of relief wash through her as she grasped it in her hand. She screamed once again as one of the men grabbed at her leg. She quickly pulled her self up, and turned, before ripping it out of his clutch, and then kicked him in the head. As the man stumbled back, a large gash forming on his bald skull. She desperately attempted to climb forward onto the slick roof, her grip slipping constantly. Finally, she managed to get onto the shingles, and run across them, desperate to escape.

A horrible feeling spread through her as she ran. The wind she'd so earlier welcomed now nipped at her ears and nose, and the sky had turned dark. Her breath was hard as she jumped from the rooftop to rooftop. Suddenly, nausea swept through her like a wave. She doubled over, stopping for a moment, before straightening herself up. Her sides were burning, and she felt as if fire was filling her. Fear, nervousness, and perplexity all washed through her. Her eyes stung, and her throat was on fire. She felt as though she'd suddenly been stricken by a horrible disease. Perhaps she had. She scolded herself for letting her mind wander. She needed to pay attention to running away, she was in_ big_ trouble.

Of course, there was always that strange possibility that the people couldn't climb after her. They did look a bit meaty. Amanda glanced behind her, and grinned when she saw that no one was trailing her. She was on a strange place, though. She'd never climbed on rooftops before. Her smile quickly faded as three shadow-like people came racing across the houses. She closed her eyes in frustration. They just couldn't leave her alone, could they?

She felt the aching feeling race through her once for a second time as she started up again. A large sigh began to escape her lips, and she looked down in the street, and spotted two familiar men. She smiled, and started towards the edge of the roof. She was just about to get down, when a gunshot cracked through the air, and a bullet whizzed past her. She tried to call out for Holmes and Watson, but fear constricted her. She felt paralyzed as a man grabbed her by the shoulder, but for a second, a sort of anger raged through her, and she turned, punching the guy in the face. And then she turned, and jumped down to the street, landing on several people. As she got up from their knocked down bodies, she promptly apologized before sprinting after the detective and doctor.

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><p><strong>AN: Thanks! Please review! Merry Christmas to everyone! :)**

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><p>Klewis5: Thank you so much for reviewing! Haha, I know, I like it too! I trust you like Amanda? Thanks! I hope this is soon enough... I've been caught up with three novels and Christmas! Merry Christmas! :)<p>

ANYONE WHO READ OR REVIEWED DESERVES A PIECE OF CANDY! THANK YOU ALL!

xD


	3. Chapter II: Part II: Rooftop Wars

_Ah, I'm sorry for the late update. I was rather stricken by my Kindle, and I confess was paying more attention to it than this story... and then I got grounded. And therefore, this chapter was incredibly rushed, so sorry if it's not as good as it could be. I was trying to update as soon as possible, I swear! And please understand, this is not an easy writing style for me, I'm a younger writer, and so my mind isn't as sharp as it should be. And as I explained before, Amanda is a hard character. So, anyways, I appreciate all of you! Expect the next chapter soon, I'll be working on it as much as I can between school and intruments! Thanks! Buon divertimento!_

_Disclaimer: You know it. I most definately do NOT own Sherlock Holmes, or anything else you recognize._

_Characters are slightly AU_

_(P.S. Sorry if Watson is a little off, they haven't given us much to work with in the first place, but I will work my hardest to get him into a better character form later on in the story!)_

_~Bandit :)_

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><p>Rebel<p>

Chapter II: Rooftop Wars

Part II

Her footsteps fell like bombs on the wet cobblestone street; her hair was streaming behind her like a curtain. Several bullets whizzed through the air after her, several people screamed. And yet, Amanda didn't mind them as she found herself set on a target. She rounded another corner, and then another. She could feel her breathing grow more ragged each step she took. It was all such a scary ordeal, and she couldn't help but congratulate herself for being so brave. And even as she panted harder, ducking as another bullet flew past her, a smirk slid onto her face. She could feel herself fill with dread as Holmes and Watson, the men she was chasing, turned into what looked to be an alleyway. She prayed to God that there wasn't a dead end. She nearly dove behind the corner, and raced up to Holmes and Watson. She could see surprise register on both their faces as she stood, her hair a mess, her face covered in sweat and dirt, bent on, her hands on her knees, gasping for breath.

"How did you escape this time?" she could sense the heavy exasperation that dripped from the detective's words. Amanda cursed under her breath; it was a dead end.

"No time… to explain," the thirteen-year-old glanced behind her, and met the eyes of her pursuers, "Look… out."

And with that, she scrambled behind Holmes, as if to protect herself, peeking out from behind her shelter. She could see Holmes tense up, and Watson pull out a small pistol as the three men strode into the alley, their hands shoved into their pockets, probably to conceal the guns, whistling merrily. She gave a small whimper, and buried her head into Holmes's back. Holmes didn't move a muscle, and instead stood still, waiting patiently. The men wandered closer, acting as though they hadn't just shot at Amanda mere minutes ago. Holmes and Watson exchanged looks as they shadow-like people suddenly whipped out their guns. And suddenly, a fight ensued. Amanda couldn't help but getting dizzy as she watched the five men scuffle around like a pack of dogs. Several gunshots cracked through the air, and at some point in time she was shoved back from the fight. She liked to pretend it was for her safety. She wanted nothing more to land a few punches on the guys who'd been terrorizing her all morning, but she didn't exactly think anyone would appreciate it much. In the end, however, three men lay dead on the street, and Holmes and Watson stepped back, a few bruises and cuts, but otherwise unscathed. She couldn't help but grin, thankful for their health.

"Well, I'll just be getting back to the house," she clapped her hands, and tried to look the most innocent she could as she stepped over one of the dead man's body. She was, however, pulled back rather roughly by the back of her shirt. She made a choked sound as she was forced back to where the two men stood. She grinned mischievously at them both as Watson let go of her. "You couldn't really expect to leave me a whole day without me getting in trouble, now could you?"

"Unfortunately, we didn't," Holmes looked rather ticked. The last thing Amanda wanted to do was mess with him, "We just didn't think you'd make such a big… mess of it all."

"I suppose you're referring to the bodies?" she put on a wan look.

"What do you think?" she was oddly reminded of her parents.

"Well, actually, that wasn't my fault. Someone sent them after me. I had no choice but to run. If I were to choose the other option, I'd be lying dead, on the street, my head pounded into my skull, and I figured you wouldn't enjoy that much; you'd be losing a case. See, I had your best intentions in mind the whole time," she tried slyly. She could tell Holmes wasn't buying it, "Oh yeah, and those weren't the only men that were trying to kill me. If I'm correct, the four giants should be coming after me at this moment," they all turned towards the entrance of the alleyway, and spotted several large shadows. Amanda smiled, "See?"

She could hear Holmes curse under his breath, and then felt his cold gaze penetrate into the side of her head. "Alrighty then," she turned towards the wall, "Follow me!" without a second thought, the girl started to climb towards the rooftops.

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><p>"You are now grounded," Watson spat as Amanda was handcuffed to the chair once again, this time with two handcuffs.<p>

"Funny you should say that," her voice was light and breezy. She did a good job of masking her real emotions, "Considering you don't have official guardianship of me."

"Then you're mentally grounded," Holmes was pacing his room.

"You're just being ridiculous now," she squinted her eyes, "I've told you that it isn't my fault!"

"You escaped!" Holmes turned rather sharply, "Even when we told you not to!"

"Honestly Holmes, you couldn't actually suppose I'd follow the rules," she looked pleadingly into his eyes, "You of all people should know better than to hold such dependence in me."

He leaned in close to her, "I though we were done playing this game."

"I thought we were too," she hissed, her eyes darting frantically around. "I don't like being confined in one place like some filthy animal, thank you very much."

"You're the one comparing here, not me," he stepped back from her, his breathing irregular as he fumed in the distance.

Amanda cocked her head at the upset detective, closing her eyes in silent guilt, "Alright," she sighed, "Alright, alright. I give, Holmes. I give," all in all she couldn't stand to see her role model so upset. She couldn't stand to see him so upset when it was really her fault.

"What?" he didn't turn to look at her, but she could tell he was surprised, "What did you say?"

"I give up Holmes, I'm sorry," she relented.

"I honestly thought you'd be so much harder to deal with, when actually you dissolve at the simplest things."

At his words, Amanda burst out in laughter. She put her head in her hands, pulling against the double handcuffs. She leaned back, gasping for air, her eyes closed as she continued to cackle. Holmes finally pivoted to look at her, and raised an eyebrow, "You're quite tickled by this. I'm afraid I'm out on the joke. What is so funny, my dear?"

"Oh lord," she breathed, before taking a few deep breaths, and looking his straight in the eye, a smirk spread across her smug face, "You think you've figured me out, Holmes, when all in all you know absolutely nothing."

"You've forgotten at a glance I could tell a thousand things about you."

"Hmm, I never thought you'd be one to brag. After all, you do like to hide your skills. Most of the time, anyways," Amanda pursed her lips, "If you're so good, then tell me the thousand things."

"Now you're just stalling," Holmes smirked at her, before sighing and leaning against the wall.

"It's what I do to avoid trouble. It's kind of a child thing," she was painfully aware of how exhausted Holmes was, and she suddenly realized he was the only one.

He closed his eyes, "Well stop it. No matter what you say or what you do, you will still be punished, and there's nothing that can help it."

And suddenly, she was taking a dive in her memories. It was a while ago, at least five years. She'd been a proud little girl, full of confidence, and arrogance. She thought nothing of others, nothing of anything. There was only one subject that intrigued her, and that subject was standing in front of her, fatigue sweeping over him as his breathing filled the silent room. Her head was clouded with memories, an endless abyss of thoughts and collections of scenes. This particular reminiscence was on a cloudy day; a Sunday. She had been sitting on the window sill of her brother's room, having him scan through the paper for her, her mind wandering around. She'd been resting her head on the cool window, streaking with raindrops, when he'd cried out. She'd quickly jumped from her spot, and resting her head on the shoulder. The front page was clear, and sullen. 'Detective Sherlock Holmes Seriously Injured in Newest Case.' She herself had felt like exclaiming, but held in her emotions with difficulty. She'd then grabbed the paper from her brother's clutches, and promptly read the several paragraphs that followed the depressing title. She'd clung onto every word as she scanned it's contents, her eyes dull. And she still knew the words by heart.

To her young relief, two days later the paper stated that he was recovering quickly. She couldn't help a smile as her thoughts returned to current-time, and even now, years later, as she slipped her hand into her pocket, she could feel the harsh texture of the old clipping she'd torn out. Her grin widened, and she leaned back in her chair, satisfied. And all at once, she was out of breath, coughs and sneezes erupting from her. She could feel herself pale, and trembles overtake her. Holmes's eyes snapped open, and he strode towards her, but Watson beat him there. He swiftly took her chin, looking into her eyes, and checking her pulse. Amanda hastily closed her mouth, and exchanged glances with Holmes, before smiling at Watson.

"I'm quite alright now, Doctor," she reassured him.

"But let me check you over anyways," Amanda scoffed, but otherwise let the doctor ensure her wellbeing. She exchanged exasperated looks with Holmes, and rolled her eyes a couple of times. Though she seemed arrogantly annoyed with Watson's actions, she could help but feel a burning gratefulness spreading inside her. It felt good to have someone care for her, and to take care of her.

Once he was done, she couldn't help but smile, and lean her head back, "Alright, you're fine," Told ya so, "But your actions from today have aroused your symptoms. Try to rest and refrain from escaping."

"I'll try my best," she smiled at him.

"Speaking of rest," Watson gathered his things, and with that, was out of the room, leaving her and Holmes alone.

The girl cleared her throat, and reclined back in the chair, her eyes looking Holmes up and down. And they stared at each other, warily aware of the other's intentions. She'd never heard silence this loud. And finally, she broke their staring contest, looking away, and concealing giggles, "Are you alright, Amanda?"

"I'd never thought I'd hear caring words from your lips, Holmes," she cocked an eyebrow at him, "And here I was thinking I was just another case you could care less about."

"You're thinking was correct, so don't assume, my dear girl," he snapped in reply.

"I thought your motto was to assume," she placed her chin in her hand, "Unless I've read incorrectly."

"You have," he replied crisply, "I do not care for assuming, more of proving."

"Proving the facts," she nodded, finally coming to terms with his attitude.

He studied her, his gaze judging, "Proving the crime," he smiled, turning on his heel.

She watched fearfully as he swept out of the room, slamming the door behind him. She opened her mouth, as if to say, 'Don't go', but ended up staring wildly at the doorway as several crashes came from the hallway. She could hear a stream of curses, and she snickered in admiration, her heart melting. She couldn't hate Holmes as much as she could hate a bird. She loved birds. She couldn't help but getting lost in her thoughts as she considered the room once again. It told a lot about a person by the way they kept their study. And this room certainly told a lot about Holmes.

He positively didn't care about working in a mess. He was obsessed chemistry. And he liked experiments. Especially on Gladstone. Though, this was all far too obvious. She knew he was testing her, seeing how well she could deduce things. But she wasn't the genius people thought of her. Sure, she could tell if it would rain in a few days, or if someone was a drunk, when at that moment, they were sober. She could tell if a certain bullet was copper or silver, she could tell someone's antics by just catching a glimpse of them from the corner of her eye. She could not, however compare to Sherlock Holmes, and the secrets he was hiding in his room. And she would think he would know this, and he probably did. He wanted to get her mind racing, he wanted her to think he was a dolt, so she'd attempt another ill-conceived escape. So she'd go off, blabbing everything she knew about him. But she hadn't before. Not ever. She wouldn't dream of it. But she couldn't be sure he knew this. And therefore, she wanted to play along with his little façade, and let him think his own thoughts. It didn't matter to her whether he trusted her or not. It'd certainly make her feel better about herself, but it wouldn't help anything.

By the time she gave a sigh, a sure sign she was ending her thoughts, Holmes had burst back through the door, a triumphant smirk littering his face. Gladstone gave a small, helpless whine. Amanda smiled at them both, before focusing on the box in Holmes's hand. It was elegant, a deep red, with intricate little carvings of flowers and nature engraved into it. It was rather small, he'd be able to carry it with one hand, but it looked heavier than she imagined, so she couldn't say anything about him clutching it in both of his palms. He held it as if it were treasured gold, though by the worn looks of the edge of the book, she could tell he used it too often for it to be incredibly valuable.

He strode forward, still beaming, and placed the container carefully on the table, glancing up at her giddily. She snorted, mocking his ridiculous childishness. If he noticed, he didn't show any sign of it, and sat down across from her, a competitive look on his face. He slowly opened the top of the box, making a grand ordeal of it. As soon as the beautiful package was opened, she looked inside, and a smile crept onto her face.

Holmes looked up at her, "Do you play chess?"

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><p><strong>AN: Ah, a little hint for the next chapter ;) Hoped you liked it! Please review it! You know you want to! And Happy New Year! (Little late, but still) :)**

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><p>RachluvsMerlin: Thank you, and thanks for your review! Yeah, sorry about the cliffhanger... habit ;) At least I got you off the cliff!<p>

MarliGibbs: Thank you so much! I hope this is soon enough? If not, I aplogize :P (P.S. I love your profile picture!)

cissa: Thank you! As I explained before, this is a difficult writing style, I'm not used to so much logic, haha. I'm young (12), and therefore the writing isn't perfect ;)

WriterMonkey0626: Here ya go then! ;) Thank you for reviewing! (P.S. I LOVE Jack Sparrow! ;)

I want a fez: I updated! :)


	4. Chapter III: The White Knight Falls

_Ha! I finished this and updated before the week (since I lasted updated) was over! Anyways. I am not a fluent French speaker, so parden any mistakes. And also, I'm not very good at aciton scenes, if you haven't noticed before now, so if they suck, I'm sorry. Enjoy! Buon divertimento!_

_Translations (rough): Je ne peux pas croire que je fais cela. Vérifiez, Holmes = I can't believe I'm doing this. Check, Holmes._

_Vous avez fait une grave erreur, le lapin. = You made a big mistake, rabbit_

_Et comment ça, le frère = And how are you sure, brother_

_Lapin = Rabbit_

_Précieux - precious_

_Characters are slightly AU_

_~Bandit :)_

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><p>Rebel<p>

Chapter III: The White Knight Falls

His trap was so intricately set up in a manner of which she could not move unless she wanted one of her warriors to fall, yet so deliciously hard to fool; it made her want to beat him even more. He thought he had her fooled when he slide his castle forward, a sly smirk imprinted on that arrogant face of his. But, she knew the invisible barrier he'd set up must've had some sort of hole in it. After all, not everyone is perfect. She studied the marble board quickly, taking in it's beautiful designs and graceful art, though she quickly recovered. She'd become far too used to it's wonderful quality over the past few hours, though it still struck her interest, she needed to stay focus on the quiet war that was going on above it. This must've been one of his tricks, get her too caught up in the bread to worry about the jam, but she wasn't going to let him fool her as he always did. She wasn't going to let him win.

It was either she sacrifice the castle, in order to stop his bishop, but be killed by the knight, or sacrifice her queen, in order to stop his own castle, but it would thus leave it out in the open for the bishop to attack. Amanda pondered this as she placed her hands in her chins. They'd been at this since last night, and well into the morning. Though she wanted to sacrifice neither warriors, she knew she must choose the castle, being the lesser powerful of the two, but she was sure that the great detective had some sort of trick up his sleeve, and therefore would annihilate them both, possibly in the manner of two plays. She once again scrutinized the board, looking for any of plays he could have once she moved. Then she spotted one in the far corner, one she couldn't have possibly overlooked if she had had this manner of thinking in her mind when she first searched for plays. A pawn, easily camouflaged to look as innocent as anything, could easily get her queen if she moved towards his castle. She cracked a smile at him, certain of her next move.

She could tell Holmes was slightly put off by her grin, and was faintly puzzled. But as she grasped her delicate knight in her hand, and placed it where his bishop was, knocking it from it's place, he let out a small, "Ah!" and a cheeky smirk spread on his face.

"You think I've made a mistake by taking out your bishop," she smiled as she gladly accepted his piece, placing it gently to the side, as if it were a real person.

"I do," he then studied the board, and gave a small chuckle. He then moved his own knight towards her castle, easily knocking it out, suggesting he thought this was her next play. Amanda pursed her lips. He was right. She considered other options, biting her bottom lip, kneading her hands together. Finally she spotted one free piece.

"Je ne peux pas croire que je fais cela. Vérifiez, Holmes," Amanda muttered under her breath as she moved her queen, taking out the knight, and getting a clear shot at his king, "I can't believe I'm doing this. Check, Holmes," she translated.

"I know French very well, thank you," he snapped bitterly. She couldn't help but marvel at his competitiveness. "Vous avez fait une grave erreur, le lapin."

"Et comment ça, le frère?" she replied harshly, waiting for him to make his move.

"You've left your queen out in the open," he laughed, his grey eyes shining brighter by the second.

Amanda scowled, but it soon turned into an evil grin as she noticed he didn't have a play. She hadn't messed up. Although, the detective looked unhappy, she could just imagine he was really bursting with pride on the inside. "So I have."

"My dear, are you intent on losing this game?" he smirked at her. She cocked an eyebrow questionably, before frowning.

She could feel her insides grow cold with resent, "I'm not going to lose. Don't you see it? I have won."

"There's no need to be so conceited, Lapin," he met her eyes, his own gleaming with a childish arrogance.

"Look who's talking, Mister Smug," she snorted, chuckling quietly. He joined in on the laughter, and without even studying the immobile war taking place on the checkered board.

His hand quickly shot out, the sneer still playing on his face, and quickly moved a pawn towards her queen, completely taking it out. Amanda closed her eyes in anger. That damn, _innocent_ pawn. "Check mate, darling," he said his words carefully, saying them slowly, as if in fear she'd kill him if he uttered them.

She snapped her hazel eyes open and gaped at his moved. How had she overlooked it that pawn… _again_? She growled in rage, and shot up from her chair, before pacing around the room. When they'd started playing chess, he'd unlocked her from her handcuffs, since chess was a hobby of hers. He knew she'd be too absorbed in the game to attempt to leave again. He also knew he'd be able to dominate her, making her want to play again and again.

"How do you do it?" she turned sharply to glare at him, before stopping short, "You know what? I don't want to know."

She then continued to pace, a stream of curse words emitting from her mouth. Her mind was churning, as she tried to remember every single move of his. How had he known she was going to do that? She had clearly disguised the play, and it was obvious she was going to use another piece. _And he'd known_. She was now officially ticked at him.

Suddenly the door burst open, and Watson appeared in the doorway, looking harassed. Amanda stopped in her tracks, mid-sentence, her mouth wide open. She flushed, and grinned embarrassedly at Watson, "What did you need?" Holmes was studying Watson rather curiously as he spoke these words.

Watson opened his mouth, but Amanda shushed him, "I want a re-match, Holmes," she sat down across from the detective. Holmes nodded.

"I'm afraid, that's not going to happen, Amanda," Watson said with a grim tone to his voice, "Inspector Lestrade has asked for us both, Holmes. Not you, Amanda. I'm afraid I'm going to steal your chess partner for a couple of hours."

Amanda raised her eyebrows, and pouted, as if she were really upset. "What could the Chief of Police possibly want with you that he doesn't want with me?"

"Lot's of things, Précieux," Holmes winked at her, before striding towards Watson. "Oh, and do try to stay here, will you?"

She stared agape as Holmes voluntarily left with Watson out the door, leaving her completely chainless. Her eyes only widened as she peered out the window, and noticed Holmes and Watson strolling casually down the street, interlocked in conversation, not giving a care about the building they just left. Her jaw nearly hit the floor. She looked back at the chess table, realizing the marble pieces were still in the place of his victory. Her blood boiled within her as she clenched her fists together. She _would _wait. She _had_ to play him once more. She would show them.

This was one of his tricks. He'd _purposely_ left the pieces that way, she was sure of it. His logic was astute, and she knew he knew she'd never give up the chance of a challenge. She made a low growling sound before pulling up a chair and staring out the window, watching them saunter through the crowds, keeping a sharp eye on their heads. It was easy to spot them. It was, however, a little more difficult to see the two men following them.

As soon as she caught sight of the black cloaks and unusually stalking stride, she jumped up with an audible gasp. She squinted her eyes as she scrutinized them. They definitely had the antics to follow someone, and considering the current circumstances, she only guessed it was Holmes and Watson. There was always the possibility they knew they were following them, but she couldn't take any chances. She wasn't going to let them suffer for her. She lunged towards the door, her heart beating hard inside her chest, and her eyes wild. She tore down the hall, and raced down the stairs, straight past Nanny.

"Miss, where are you going?" instead of replying, Amanda gave a loud laugh, and flashed a smile at her before heading towards the front door.

She slid she was going so fast, and caught herself before she hit the door. She ripped it open, and sprinted down the street, her hair flying behind her as she expertly dodged people, heading straight towards the dynamic duo. As she flew past the stalls and civilians, she couldn't help but wonder when she'd been so prone to adventure. It seemed to follow her wherever she went, and she didn't like it much. It wasn't the excitement that bothered her, that's what she loved most; it was more the danger that always seemed to tag along. She dived behind a crate as she neared the two 'henchmen', and peered out behind her hiding spot, ignoring the strange looks people were giving her.

She noticed Holmes look back, and nudge Watson causing them both to lock eyes with her. She gulped as he scowled, but she quickly pointed towards the men following them. Holmes sneered, but they both quickened their pace, nodding at each other as they did so. For the longest time, Amanda was sure they were going to split up, as if to confuse the men pursuing them, but they instead turned, shoulder to shoulder down the alleyway. She recognized it, unfortunately, and realized it was the same as the day before. She sighed, a sudden feeling of déjà vu running through her. It was dead end. She rolled her eyes, thinking of the arrogance of them both.

She hopped out from her hiding place as the scoundrels rounded the corner as well. A hissing sound came from her mouth as she doubled over, coughs erupting from her lips, black spots forming in her vision, 'Not now, not now. God, not now,' were the only thoughts running through her head as she continued to wheeze, her body determined to force her to hack up a lung. She straightened herself up as she considered the possibilities of all that could be happening in that dark alleyway, and despite her sudden dip in health, continued to make her way towards the lane. She walked in upon a horrific scene, her eyes widening as she watched it. There was no possible way that things could be going worse for either of them. The evil goons were far better fighters than Watson and Holmes, if it were possible, and unfortunately weren't going the least bit easy on the two. Amanda sighed as she watched them continue to get pummeled.

Watson was having a far better time at battling the bigger one than Holmes was the faster one. The doctor would have a few good hits with that walking stick of his, she didn't understand why he hadn't unsheathed the sword yet, and then get punched a couple of times. It was a never-ending cycle. As for Holmes, well just _watching_ him made Amanda feel the horrible welts and bruises he'd wake up tomorrow with. He on the other hand, barely got _any_ hits in and was getting completely annihilated. It took all Amanda had _not _to laugh. She sure hoped Holmes was saving a big huge attack for the end, and was only trying to throw the guy off. Otherwise, the two had no hope. Alone, at least.

Amanda quickly scolded herself. She couldn't just go around helping two men she didn't even know in a battle against two guys who looked like they'd had powerful training. But, she still felt guilty. It _was_ her fault they were getting walloped. She shifted tentatively from foot to foot. She'd go in and help when, and only when, they showed signs of distress. Yes, that sounded like a good plan. She wasn't much of a fighter, but she figured an extra pair of fists may help in this certain occasion. And so she continued to watch from behind the corner, eager to help out her role model, and the good doctor.

The minutes suddenly grew long, and Amanda felt herself grow dizzy once more, except for this time it was in fear. Everything was going in slow motion as it happened, and she could barely stop herself from crying out. The smaller man, though he was quite bigger than Holmes, grabbed the detective by the shoulders, and pinned him up against the wall, smashing his head into the bricks. And then he released his firm grip and threw him across the alley, causing Holmes to trip and stumble as he held his bleeding head. The man whipped out a gun, just like that, and shot Holmes three times in the stomach. The scoundrel grabbed him once more, and began beating his head with the gun multiple times before discarding him like trash.

The gunshots rang through the alley, and far onto the street. They wouldn't stop ringing. The thirteen-year-old thought the sound would be there forever, that they wouldn't ever stop. Holmes lay, curled up in a ball in the corner, small moaning sounds coming from him as he clutched his head. Watson stopped what he was doing, and turned to look, in horror, at Holmes. The bigger man, however, stepped forward and hit him hard across the face, and Watson, reluctantly, started to fight once more. Amanda's eyes widened as the man who'd shot him, stood over Holmes, his gun pointed directly at his forehead. Holmes didn't even seem to notice.

The girl filled with rage, and her blood boiled. She figured this was a sign of distress. The dirt bag laughed mockingly, and uttered a few unintelligible disdainful French words, before creeping forward ever so slightly. Amanda held her breath as she thought of a plan. Never go into a fight without a plan. But when the man kicked Holmes, earning another struggled cry from the detective, she knew she had to do something. She couldn't watch her favorite person in the world die. She raced forward, and easily hit the man on the back of the head, earning a look from Watson, who'd caught her eye.

The man spun in surprise, and his eyebrows furrowed, before he realized she was just a small girl. She kicked and punched, but completely missed, earning herself a few hard hits from the man. As he aimed his gun at her, she froze in her tracks, chills running through her body. Her eyes widened, and her lips trembled as the man waddled forward, an evil grin littering his face. And suddenly, with a devious glint in her eyes, she screamed, a loud, bloodcurdling scream. She could feel all action in the alleyway pause, and that's exactly what she wanted. As the man halted, Amanda raced forward, and simply kicked him in the groin. With a loud exclamation, the goon fell to the ground, and Amanda grabbed the gun from his clasp. She quickly shot him in the head, and aimed for the criminal dealing with Watson. She placed a few swift shots to the man's abdomen, before grinning charmingly at Watson.

"Real ladylike, Amanda," he managed out, before rubbing his forehead exasperatedly.

She just chuckled, before feign curtsying at him, a smirk planted on her face. A pitiful moan from Holmes sent them both flying towards him. Amanda was the first the reach the wounded detective, followed by the good doctor. She knelt by him, and tapped his cheek. Watson got on his knees as well, ripping off Holmes's jacket.

Holmes suddenly burst into a sitting position, clutching at Amanda's shoulder, coughing hard, "I… wasn't… hit," he sputtered out, "My head, Watson, my head," he groaned.

Amanda stared in surprise; the three bullets that the man had shot were perfectly lodged in Holmes's waistcoat, not even grazing the detective. He, however had grown awfully pale, and was once again clutching his head. Amanda felt a pang of sympathy for the detective, before he opened his eyes again, and spotted her.

"Woman!" he suddenly burst out, as if he hadn't seen her before, "What the hell-."

"I was saving you, Holmes. You should thank me," she cut him off smoothly, her voice gentle.

"That is hardly to be consid-," he suddenly cried out in pain, and removed his hands, which were covered in blood from his wound. "Ouch," he finished pitifully.

Both Watson and Amanda grabbed his upper arm, and hauled him to his feet. Once he was situated, Holmes dusted the dirt from his clothes, and began to lead the way. However, as soon as he took a step, he crumpled to the ground, a sullen look on his face. Amanda concealed a light chuckle, as the pair helped him up once more, this time, supporting his weight on their shoulders.

"I'm not done with you yet, Miss Todd," she nearly stopped in her tracks at his usage of the name. She gulped. She was in trouble.

"Why are you so upset about it? I was trying to help you," she hissed, her eyebrows furrowed.

Holmes stopped and turned towards her, causing himself to go a shade paler, and Watson to trip and stumble. He seemed grim and oddly reluctant, like a turtle fearing coming out of his shell, "I saw you fighting with the man. I heard you scream, and then saw someone hit the floor. It was dark, I couldn't tell. I panicked. I thought…"

Amanda felt her mouth go dry as she realized what he was saying. Her eyes barely watered, but there was still some dampness she couldn't hide, "Oh Holmes."

By then Watson had once again flung the detective's arm over his shoulder, and before any of them knew it, they were once again headed back to Baker Street. Sometime halfway through, Holmes would stop and say they should buy this and that from the stalls lining to path. Amanda couldn't really tell. Everything was blurred, and yet she'd never felt happier. He'd cared for her? He would care if she were to be shot. And that was enough to make her happier than normal. She felt as though she could fly. Why hadn't this happened to her earlier? For this first time in her life, she was positive that someone actually thought she mattered. Thought that she was worth something more than what she tried to make herself value.

"Holmes, for the last time, we have to get you home so I can check to see how badly your head is injured," Watson pulled the detective away from yet another stand.

"Sorry, old boy, I'm a little drowsy," Holmes yawned, as if to prove it, "Perhaps I can fall asleep and you could carry me up to the house?"

"Holmes," Watson shot him such a look that the detective instantly hid his sniggers.

Amanda burst out laughing, "Oh, I almost forgot our little rabbit was with us," Holmes turned towards her with a big grin splattered all over his unshaven face.

"_Tell_ me you gave him some sort of medication to get him this way," exasperation literally dripped off the thirteen-year-old's words.

"I'm sorry," he replied grimly, "I'm almost reluctant to give him _any_ antibiotics or painkillers at all."

"I would be too, Doctor," she laughed, before looking over, and realizing Holmes was nearly asleep. She promptly kicked him in the shin. He started, and cried out, shooting her a nasty glare, before making a childish hissing sound.

"Was that _really_ necessary?" he spat at her. She was glad they were almost near Baker Street.

"Well, since I am not really up to carrying you all the way home, and _Watson _isn't very well considering it, and I figured you didn't want to be dragged the whole way, yes. It was very necessary," she gave him a million-dollar grin.

"Who says I don't want to be dragged the whole way?"

"I do," she countered, and cocked an eyebrow at him.

"Will you two stop bickering, we're almost there," Watson snapped from the other side.

"It's not as if you two _goons_ aren't squabbling constantly," Amanda considered the stairs, trying to figure the best way to get up them with the injured detective.

"Yes but I'm so _sick_ of you two. It's as if you're siblings," Watson was mimicking her actions.

"Funny, I was just about to say the same thing about you," the three continued, bracing themselves for the steps.

"Look who's arguing now," Holmes piped up in a feeble voice. They tuned their attention on the detective, who'd had whatever color remained in his skin drained away. He looked like a ghost, grey-skinned, with blood running down his head.

"Sorry, Holmes," they dumped him gently on the nearest couch. Watson scurried off to go get his medical kit.

Amanda was left to pull up a chair, and look over him as he closed his eyes. His breathing was ragged, and his eyelids would flutter occasionally, but he had his hands folded peacefully on his stomach. She smiled. This was one of those times when she didn't resent meeting him.

"Amanda," he muttered, his eyes still closed, just as she thought he'd finally settled down and fallen asleep.

"Yes, le frère?" she replied gently, her voice concerned.

"Try not to get anymore sick. I hate the sound of your coughs," his voice was trailing off.

She couldn't resist the wide smile that was spreading on her face, "It's not something I can help Holmes," all she wanted to do was reach out and run a hand through his curly hair. It was something she always did for her brother when he wasn't feeling well.

"And one more thing, Rabbit," he continued, his breathing growing shallower.

"Yes?"

"I don't think I'm up to playing chess just yet. I think we're going to have to hold up on that game, okay?"

She gave a small chuckle, "Whatever you wish."

"Just don't go running away. We still have a rematch to play."

"You act as if you aren't going to win anyways."

He just smiled, and finally his breathing evened out, and she knew, that this time he was really asleep. And now she could rest too.

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><p><strong>AN: Hope you're ready for the next one! :) Please review!**

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><p>WriterMonkey0626: Haha, thanks :) Oh, I have a massive crush on both of them as well... Hope you enjoy, haha :)<p>

Gaia'schild: Ah, but your story was way more wonderful. Few people do that haha :) I can't have him worrying too much... yet. Don't worry. Thanks :)

THANK YOU TO ANYONE WHO READ OR REVIEWED... YOU ARE AWESOME!


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